


Long Day, Quiet Song

by apple_pi



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M, Quiet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-29
Updated: 2006-01-29
Packaged: 2018-07-28 08:28:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7632565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple_pi/pseuds/apple_pi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dom can hear Billy sleeping in the bedroom. For once he’s not whistling through his nose (though Dom will swear, tomorrow, that he was); he’s not even snoring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Day, Quiet Song

Dom can hear Billy sleeping in the bedroom. For once he’s not whistling through his nose (though Dom will swear, tomorrow, that he was); he’s not even snoring. He’s just breathing, and every once in a while Dom hears an indrawn breath, thin and whispery; through Billy’s nose, Dom thinks, probably. That’s all. It’s audible over the television, though, and Dom thinks tomorrow Billy might be stuffy, and they’ll have to run to the chemist and pick up some of that nose spray stuff for him. Dom is willing to share lots of things with Billy, but he’s reasonably sure Bill won’t put Dom’s nasal spray up his own nose, even if Dom were inclined to let him. Which, in fact, he’s not.

Dom’s sort of listening to the television—a documentary about traveling through South Africa on foot—and really writing in his journal. He writes about his day, which was spent cleaning house and picking Billy up from the airport and kissing him hello and driving him home and spending quality time with him. _Is that what they’re calling it these days?_ he can hear Billy’s amused lilt. _Well, maybe_ , Dom would probably reply. _Any complaints about the quality?_ But the fact is, of course, Dom doesn’t call it “quality time” in his journal. He doesn’t write down the taste of Billy’s skin, or the way he laughed when Dom pinned him down, or how he groaned, low and sweet, when Dom entered him, or later, when he entered Dom. Dom doesn’t try to describe the expression on Billy’s face when he came, or how it felt deep inside his body, or the moments just afterward, when he and Billy lay tangled together, talking, laughing a little, sweaty and sleepy and completely content. Dom just writes _we came home and had a shag_.

Dom writes on: plans for tomorrow, how his back hurts from a new exercise the trainer’s having him try, lamentations about his hair and a torn contact lens and how one of the geckos he brought home three days ago escaped. After a while the telly draws his attention again; South Africa has been successfully crossed, apparently, and credits are rolling over a picture of the sea, something exotic and percussion-heavy playing over the image. Dom reaches over to poke at the Power button and the TV blinks off. The house is dark except for the lounge, and now Dom can hear Billy’s breathing, down the hall, even more clearly—not just an occasional dry inhale, but nearly every rise and fall of his chest is audible. Dom closes the journal and slips the pen down into the spiral binding. He turns off the light and trails his fingers down the wall as he walks to his bedroom.

Billy doesn’t say anything, or probably even really wake up, but when Dom has pulled off his shirt and shorts, when he slides under the sheets and the lightweight duvet he can’t seem to sleep without, Billy moves toward him immediately, and Dom curls up, half on his belly, half on his side, Billy curved around his back, warm and familiar and right. All he’ll write in his journal tomorrow is _I went to bed about eleven; Bill was already asleep._


End file.
